Chocolate Marshmallow Whoopie Pies

The history of the whoopie pie is surprisingly sordid, full of drama and general confusion. With an unusual name like whoopie pie, it seems destined to have an interesting story behind it. Whoopie pies are essentially two soft chocolate cookies sandwiched together with a sweet filling. Interestingly, whoopie pies were originally known as "gobs," a name I find both humorous and nondescript (Hey, do you want a gob?). I have no trouble understanding why the name was changed somewhere along the way.

Nevertheless, the true controversy begins with the origin. Depending on which source you choose to believe, a very different tale will be spun. Everybody wants a piece of the (whoopie) pie.

First, we'll hear out the food historian. In medieval Germany, long before electricity and marshmallow fluff, they were making cake-like pastries with filling over roaring fires—the ancestors to the whoopie pie. This pastry was passed down over generations, eventually reaching the United States and finding a home with the Pennsylvania Amish. The Amish women, in turn, would make these pies as a treat for their husbands and children. Legend has it, when they would spot these chocolate pies packed neatly in their lunch pails, they would let out a whooopie! with a shout.

Thus, the whoopie pie was born.

Maine also claims ownership over the pie, claiming it was invented within their state lines. Rumor has it that a woman working in a bakery in the 1920s ended up with extra batter after whipping up some cakes. Instead of tossing it out, she scooped spoonfuls of the batter onto a baking tray and popped them into the oven. When they were done, she stuck the small cakes together with leftover frosting and created the first ever whoopie pie. While there is little to no evidence to this tale (the proof was inconveniently burned in a bakery fire), it didn't sway Maine's steadfast belief, especially when they legally made it the state treat.

Boston also claims ties to the whoopie pie, but their evidence is even less substantial than Maine's or Pennsylvania's. Boston claimed the first whoopie pie recipe appeared in a cookbook created by one of their own bakeries in the 1930s. It didn't. Though the same bakery went out of business in the 1970s, the name of the bakery was painted long ago on the side of the building and still remains, though faded. If you ask the right people, they'll wistfully recall there was another sign painted below that read "Whoopee!" Pies—proof of whoopie pie's rightful heritage.

Whether you choose to believe the food historians in Pennsylvania, the governmental body of Maine, or the nostalgic patrons of long gone bakery in Boston, the real heritage of the whoopie pie doesn't really matter in the long run. The important part is that the whoopie pie is here to stay.

These Chocolate Marshmallow Whoopie Pies are soft, sweet, and filled with a hidden history. Two soft chocolate cake-like cookies are sandwiched together with a marshmallow creme. Since I don't believe in the one purpose whoopie pie pans, these can be easily made on a standard baking sheet. Whoopie pies are very similar to a soft Oreo cookie (and are equally at home with a glass of milk). Give these a try, if only to taste the hints of its sordid and surprisingly complicated past.

Click to read more ...

Pâte Brisée (Pie Crust)

The ocean holds a great sense of mystery for me. The crashing of the waves against the rocks, the salty sea air—I am drawn to it in a way I don't yet understand. I sense secrets hidden in the movement of the water and the changing of the tides. If I try to seek answers in its cryptic waters, it pretends not to hear my questions.

I grew up only a couple hour's drive from the geological center of North America. Entirely landlocked, the nearest lake was my ocean. The beaches were rocky and the sharp sand would sting the bottoms of my feet. My sandcastles were made of clay and mud. The water was as murky as could be and left you with a lingering scent long after leaving the water. Though I saw it as my substitute for the sea, I did grow to appreciate it for what it was.

Nevertheless, I longed to see the ocean. My friends would tell me passing stories of trips to the beach and I would always pry them for more information. What did the waves feel like? Was the water actually salty?

When it was finally my turn to pay a visit, I remember being struck with a great sense of awe. I never anticipated the roar of the ocean or the strength of the waves. When I was hit with my first mouthful of water, I nearly gagged on the intensity of the saline. There was a vastness I was attracted to; it made me feel so small. I was sad to leave.

Since then, I've visited the sea only a few times, but never long enough to sense the changing of the tides.

This past week, a few friends and I rented a charming beach house on a secluded stretch of the Oregon coast. I was hoping for a long, relaxing vacation on the water and my wish was granted. The house was settled on a cliff, a short walk down to a private beach. I could see the ocean from my bed; it was the first thing I would lay eyes on when I awoke in the mornings.

Every day of the week was spent down at the beach, whether playing a game of Frisbee or simply wading into the water. The water was astonishingly cold, burning the skin on my legs before my feet would go numb. I often licked my lips to taste the salt lingering from the spray of the sea. More than once I napped in the sand, lulled to sleep by the repetition of the waves.

Though the Oregon winds were chilly and brisk, the air felt fresh and clean. Great fogs would descend on the shoreline, obscuring the waters and land from view. The beach became isolated and I imagined myself on a different world. I could hear the powerful waters, but I could scarcely see more than a few feet out in the ocean. The sea is still foreign to me. I still haven't solved its mysteries.

Even now, as I am writing to you, I'm finding sand buried deep beneath my fingernails and hiding quietly behind my ears. Though the sand will wash out from between my toes, I can still recall the waves licking my feet and the chill of the water rushing up to meet my knees. The ocean settled deep within my body. It became a part of me.

If I close my eyes and listen fiercely, I swear I can hear the roar of the sea.

Unlike the ocean, this Pâte Brisée holds no secrets. Adapted from the one and only Martha Stewart, this pie crust is my idea of buttery, flaky perfection. The recipe is simple to follow and even easier to roll out. I've used this crust recipe many times without a hitch. Unlike other dough recipes, I've never had a problem with the dough shrinking when baking due to overworked dough (a huge pet peeve of mine!). I've outlined two methods for making the pie dough below—by hand and with a food processor—to make this recipe accessible to everyone and all kitchens (yes, even you!).

This dough recipe is perfect for making these Blueberry Hand Pies and a fantastic cherry pie recipe I'll be sharing with you soon!

Click to read more ...

Blueberry Hand Pies

June passed by like a whirlwind for me. One minute it was here and the next, gone. July, ever so sneaky, crept up on me faster than a sunburn in the hot sun (and I unfortunately have a fair number to judge this against). Out here in the Midwest, summer is finally, finally hitting its stride. Spring coats have hesitantly been packed away. Shorts and flip flops dot the streets. Warm breezes brush against legs and blow softly through hair. It feels good.

It wasn't until Thursday of this week that I even realized the Fourth of July was this weekend. A coworker began talking about her weekend plans when it finally hit me. Somehow the vivid red, white, and blue colors that line store shelves, paint the streets, and dress the front of homes managed to escape my eyes. Even the calendar that hangs directly on the refrigerator slipped out of my vision. I did, however, notice that the berries were an unusually low price in the supermarket. Score one in my favor?

Nevertheless, I did have a small moment of panic. Did I already have plans? Should I plan something special for the day? What was I going to do?

But, more importantly, what was I going to bake?

The Fourth of July is, no doubt, a holiday surrounding the grill. This is the true season for hamburgers, hotdogs, and a large bag of chips. It's a chance to separate the men from the boys when it comes to the fine art of barbecuing. Or, in some cases, the women from the girls (my mother can wield a mean pair of tongs).

Like most holidays, I recognize them in the way my family chooses to eat. Whether we're at a potluck with friends or simply sitting around the table on the deck by ourselves, the grill is ever present. My mother usually tries to make this holiday special by grilling up meat and vegetable kabobs with big ears of corn. When I was younger, I wanted to do my part, too. For many years, I secretly whipped up a batch of vanilla instant pudding in the early morning hours. I would dye it red, white, and blue, layer it neatly into parfait glasses, and "surprise" everyone with a festive dessert.

After a couple years, it became less of a surprise and more of a tradition, but the simple magic of a red, white, and blue dessert was never lost.

And so, when it came time for me to decide on a Fourth of July dessert for this year, I asked you for help. Now that I'm a baker, my family expects a little more from me than an instant pudding mix. One of you wisely suggested an old fashioned pie. Perfect. What could possibly be more American than pie? Plus, a good pie also represents independence—well, independence from a healthy diet.

But, I wanted to take my pie a step further. Let's be real here; pie is messy. It's hard to cut. The filling likes to ooze out of the crust despite any orders and desperate pleas you may give it. And, though pie is delicious, it isn't necessarily a good dessert for summer potlucks. Until now. Hand pies are the perfect solution to this pie conundrum. Easy to make, easy to eat, no mess, no forks, no berry stained plates.

Though you may spot a few berry stained faces.

Have a happy Fourth of July, dear American readers! I hope it is filled with laughter, love, delicious food, the boom of a good firecracker, and the glow of flickering bonfire. Or, if you just so happen to be British, I offer you my condolences on this anniversary of your loss of a great colony.

And, for the rest of you, I sincerely hope you have a lovely Monday.

These Blueberry Hand Pies are the perfect summer potluck food. The flaky, buttery pie crust holds in the rich blueberry filling, keeping it well contained. A sprinkling of sugar completes the golden picture. I love these hand pies because they already come in individual portions and they are no mess, no fuss when it comes to eating them (especially wonderful for those of you who hate doing dishes). I hope you'll find you love these little hand pies too.

Click to read more ...